Hot Seat (11 page)

‘Sorry it took me so long, Jason.'

I dropped to my knees and yanked on the grate, but the cast-iron cover failed to budge. It was welded in place with dirt and months of neglect. I heaved and felt muscles ping in my back. Each tear burned, but I kept pulling and received my reward. The grate slipped an inch, then another and another, finally popping up on its hinge.

I dropped on to my chest and reached down and pulled the phone from the soupy concoction of wet litter and dirt.

‘What the bloody hell are you doing?' a voice said from behind me.

I turned to find a security guard standing over me. I held up the dirt-covered phone.

‘I dropped my bloody phone, didn't I?' I said, getting to my feet. ‘Couldn't drop it on the ground. No, I had to drop it down the drain.'

For an on-the-spot cover story, I thought it was inspired. So inspiring, it immediately disarmed the guard's suspicions. The crossed arms and stiff stance relaxed.

‘You should have gotten one of the crew to pop the grate. Look at you. You're covered in crap.'

I didn't care. I had Jason's phone. ‘These things are too expensive to leave down there.'

‘If it's been down there in that cesspool, I doubt it works.'

That was my fear. I pressed the on button. Nothing happened. ‘Shit.'

‘No joy?'

I shook my head.

‘Yeah, thought as much. Did you take the insurance option?'

‘No. No insurance.'

‘You should think about it. You wouldn't believe the number of people who end up dropping their phones down the bog at this place.'

‘It could just be the battery. Any phone shops around?'

The guard named one.

I thanked him and headed for the street. I didn't get ten feet before he called me back.

‘What were you doing here anyway?'

‘Taking a shortcut to the tube.'

‘Let that be an expensive lesson. In life, there are no shortcuts.'

Didn't I know it.

As soon as I was out of sight of the guard, I opened up the phone and removed the battery. The phone wasn't waterlogged, but droplets of water clung to the inside of the battery compartment. I did my best to dry it out with my shirt.

I found the phone shop and held up the component pieces to the guy behind the counter. ‘Can you help?'

Obviously I wasn't the first person to drench a phone because Mick, according to his nametag, knew exactly what to do. He produced a hairdryer and ran it over the phone's internals.

‘This doesn't always work, but you never know. I suppose your life is in here.'

More than you know, I thought.

After five minutes of warming the phone into life, the shop guy installed a new battery. ‘Moment of truth,' he said and pressed the on button.

The phone burst into life, but that was as far as it went. Either the keypad or the electronics were fried, because I couldn't access any of the phone's functions. I couldn't even make a call.

So much for technology. Just like paper, once it got wet, it was ruined. It held the answers to why Jason was killed. I was convinced of that, but it was all gone, washed away by the rain. I couldn't believe I was this close to the truth only to have Mother Nature destroy it for me.

‘Sometimes you get lucky,' Mick said.

And sometimes you don't, I thought.

T
he next morning, I was eating breakfast in the kitchen when Steve poked his head through the door.

‘You got much on today?' he asked.

‘No. Do you need a hand with something?'

‘I have to take a run out and I could do with the company.'

‘Sure. No worries.'

‘Good. Be ready to go in half an hour.'

By the time I finished up breakfast and grabbed a shower, Steve was waiting for me in the Capri.

‘Where we going?' I asked as I got into the car.

He smiled and reversed on to the street. ‘I'm taking you to see someone I think you should meet.'

Steve had a surprise for me. It wasn't the first time he'd taken me on an excursion like this. He was so plugged into the motor-racing scene that a call from him opened doors. The week before my first go-kart race, he'd taken me to the Williams Formula One factory for a personal tour. When I was growing up, I was forever getting to visit F1 teams at their factories or the circuit, and getting to hang out with drivers I admired. It had been a while since he'd set one of these up. While there hadn't been a special occasion to justify one of these jaunts, I guessed this one was meant to pep me up after Jason's murder.

Steve peeled off the M4 to take the clockwise loop of the M25. ‘How'd your test session go?'

‘Not bad. Nothing special. Still adapting to the car.'

‘You'll get there. The key is not to expect instant results.'

‘You want to tell the team that?'

Steve laughed. ‘Gave you a hard time, did they?'

‘No, not really. It's just a very serious environment.'

‘They're used to winning.'

‘I hope I will.'

Steve smiled again. ‘On a different topic, the insurance company got in contact over the van. They're sending their claims adjuster to inspect it.'

I'd told Steve about the reckless-driving charges as soon as he'd returned to Archway that day.

‘I'm really sorry about this,' I said.

‘It's OK. The van's spotless. I know you didn't do anything and it'll get resolved.'

‘Will it?'

‘Hey, don't be like that. It's been a rough few days, but everything will turn out OK. Trust me.'

I wished I shared Steve's confidence.

‘Just don't keep everything bottled up. I'm always here for you.'

‘I know you are,' I said and felt bad for holding back my bargain with Gates.

Steve pulled off the motorway in Hertfordshire. I didn't have a clue where we were going. He couldn't be taking me to visit a team. None of the big names had their headquarters in Herts. As we left the towns for villages, I decided he had to be taking me to see a driver or team boss. I tried to remember who lived out this way and failed to come up with a name.

I was wrong on both counts. Steve stopped the Capri in front of a small church. At the sight of the hearse and mourners, I knew exactly who Steve had brought me to meet.

‘Oh, God.'

‘So you've worked out where you are?'

‘Why didn't you tell me we were coming to Jason's funeral? I'm not dressed for something like this.'

‘Don't you worry about the funeral just this second. We've got some things to discuss first.'

My stomach fluttered. I didn't like being scammed, especially by Steve. ‘Like what, Steve? What's going on? Why have you brought me here?'

‘I just want you to take this in. Look at these people. Look at their faces. Tell me what you see.'

Happy to do anything to avoid making eye contact with my grandfather, I looked over at the crowded churchyard. Dozens of people had come to pay their last respects to Jason. Gates was greeting people as they filed into the church. I recognized his wife and kids from the portraits back at his house. Gates had his arm around an elderly woman who I assumed was his mum. She was one person who knew what he was capable of. Naturally, Crichlow stood faithfully at his master's side, albeit at a respectful distance.

While most faces were strangers to me, I did recognize others. I watched Carrie Russell put her arms around Jason's mum before entering the church. I saw Russell Townsend, Nick Ronson and what looked to be everyone else from Townsend Motorsport. Barry Nevin followed them in as the lone contingent from Ragged Racing. I didn't see Rags or anyone else from the team. I thought it odd that for someone supposedly well loved by the team, Rags hadn't had the team attend. I guessed it could be viewed in poor taste considering where Jason had been murdered. So, was Nevin here without permission? I found that interesting. But my interest evaporated when Detective Inspector Joan Huston climbed from her car. She was the last person I wanted seeing me here.

‘And look over there.' Steve pointed at Gates. ‘There's Mr Lavery, who only yesterday wrote me a big cheque to maintain his cars. Why would he be at Jason Gates' funeral? Unless that name he gave me was bollocks. From the way he seems to be greeting everyone, I'd say he's family. Close family. Possibly a brother. Something's happened and I know you're involved so why don't you tell me about it?'

I felt my face redden. ‘Nothing's going on. It's just the new drive. It's got me—'

Steve held up his hand. ‘Don't lie to me, son. I'd rather you said nothing than listen to you lie to my face.'

I hated seeing his disappointment in me. He'd been there so many times for me. I wanted to tell him, but not with the risk of Andrew Gates following through on his threat.

‘I saw the bruises,' he said after a long moment.

My throat tightened.

‘The night you came home after the murder, you fell asleep on the sofa. I got a blanket. When I came back, your T-shirt had ridden up and I could see the bruises covering your stomach. I'm not stupid. I saw the condition you came home in that night. You weren't even in your own clothes and those were covered in dirt. I should have demanded answers from you, but you were still in shock. I was willing to wait, knowing you'd tell me when the time was right. Then three nights ago, you come home with red, raw eyes like something had burned them. Instead of getting better, the situation is getting worse. Something happened that night with Jason, didn't it? And that man is involved somehow. I don't care what because I'll help any way I can.'

Steve had put all the pieces together and had built something completely different. He thought I was involved with Jason's death. God, he had to be torn up inside. ‘It's not what you think.'

‘Then tell me.' His voice cracked. ‘I've lost everyone I've ever loved in this world. You're all I've got left and I'll be damned if I'm going to lose you.'

I couldn't hold his gaze. It was too much. ‘Please trust me when I say it's best I don't tell you.'

Steve slapped me across the face. ‘No, it isn't.'

Steve had put no power behind the slap. He didn't have to. The slap itself was enough. He'd never raised a hand to me in the whole time he'd raised me. I'd pushed him too far.

‘You tell me what's going on and you tell me now, or so help me God, I'll drag you up to that family and you can tell them what you're hiding. Have I made myself clear?'

More than clear. I couldn't keep this up any longer.

‘I told you the truth about Jason. I didn't know him. But his brother had me hijacked right after the police released me. That's the man you know as Mr Lavery. He's an ex-loan shark. You know that flat I picked up? That was his neat way of snatching me. He wants me to find Jason's killer. If I don't, he's threatened to take it out on you.'

‘Why didn't you tell me? Don't you think I had a right to know this?'

‘Yes, but I didn't want to drag you into this mess.'

‘Is that why you've been pushing Dylan and me away?'

‘It's my problem to solve.'

‘No, it's not. It's your problem, but it's down to your family to solve it. It's how these people prey on others. They make them feel like they don't have anyone to go to for help.'

‘I'm sorry.'

Steve ran a hand through his greying hair. It used to be strawberry blond. Over the last few days, I had no doubt helped make room for more grey.

‘I'm guessing the cops don't know about this arrangement.'

‘Nope.'

‘Jesus, Aidy. Why's he think you can help?'

‘Because he thinks Ragged Racing is responsible for Jason's death.'

‘Any truth to it?'

‘Maybe, I don't know. Jason was up to something or someone thinks he was. His place was turned over.'

‘You'd better start from the beginning.'

I laid it out for Steve, this time leaving nothing out. My revelations seemed to shift a weight from his shoulders.

‘See that woman over there?' He pointed at the elderly woman Gates had his arm around. ‘That's Jason's mum. She's burying her son today. I know the hell she's going through right now and so do you. She deserves justice. She deserves to know who killed her son.'

‘I know. I was just trying to protect you.'

‘Forget me. I know how to look after myself. I've been doing it all my life so I don't need you making decisions for me. Got that?'

I nodded.

‘Good. If you know something or think you can find something out that can help ease her pain, you do it. Not because someone is threatening you. You do it because it's the right thing to do. Have I made myself clear?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good. And what happens when you serve the killer up to Jason's brother?'

‘What do you think?'

‘That makes you a killer too.'

This made me sick every time I thought about it. ‘I know. If I find out who killed Jason, I'll tell him, but I'm telling the police first.'

Steve forced out a smile. ‘Just see that you do. Now let's find this killer.'

T
he ESCC championship kicked off the season at Spa-Francorchamps in Belgium. I set off for Spa on Thursday, a day ahead of the team. I drove alone, happy for the distance from my problems. I didn't want anything to do with murders and reckless-driving charges. I just wanted to race.

I reached Francorchamps just as night was falling on Thursday. I stopped the car at the roadside, giving me a panoramic view of Spa carved into the Ardennes. Twilight struck the circuit in all the right places, lighting up the black ribbon of tarmac. It was an amazing place to kick off my European racing career. The historic track is as frightening as it is exciting. It's a real driver's circuit, featuring the stomach-churning climb in Eau Rouge and the seemingly endless Kemmel Straight. Jim Clark was a master of this circuit, having won the Belgian Grand Prix four times in a row from 1962 to 1965. That was in the bad old days when the circuit was over eight and a half miles long and the weather could be different from one side of the track to the other. Even though safety standards had reduced it to half that length, it was still fearsome. It looked like paradise and I couldn't quite believe I was going to race here. I was frightened and ecstatic at the prospect of following in the wheel tracks of Jim Clark and my dad.